Two Prefect Badges
by Thalia Kendall
Summary: Hermione reminisces about how she found love when she finds two old Prefect badges in a box in her attic. Fluffy Percy/Hermione One-shot *DONE*


Hello everyone!! Yes, MORE fluff here!! A Percy/Hermione short story. Awww....  
  
Disclaimers apply and yadda yadda yadda...  
  
Enjoy!  
  
***  
  
It's funny how things turn out sometimes. At first, they were not my friends. I represented all the things they disliked about HIM. They probably could describe me with a lot of b-words. A brainy, bossy, bitchy bookworm. And then, in the space of maybe 30 minutes at most, we were all of the sudden the best of friends. And that was how it remained for the next three years. And now, like figures in some sort of odd dance of life, I drift away from them again, and drift towards HIM instead.   
  
The first signs of this drift showed last summer. It was August, the weather was warm and balmy, and all of us were at the Burrow. The two of them, along with Fred, George, their friend Lee, Ginny, Bill and Charlie, were enjoying a quick game of modified Quidditch. I was not in the mood for Quidditch. OWLs were coming up this year, not to mention You-Know-Who had returned. How could I go and play Quidditch when there were these things to worry about and be prepared for? This is what I told Ron when he called for me to join them. Of course, this raised a storm of, "Oh, come off it, Mione!" and "It's summer, have some fun!". At last, Ron rolled his eyes at me and told me that if I was going to be such a party-pooper, I could just go in and stay with Percy, since both of us were no fun.   
  
More than a little hurt at their lack of understanding, I had done just that.   
  
Percy's door had the sign "Perfect Percy the Pompous Prefect" on it, no doubt compliments of the twins. I knocked, and a pleasant voice bid me come in. His room was much neater than Ron's, the twins' or even Ginny's. It was a comfort to be in.   
  
He was busy, from the looks of it, he had a huge book in his lap, and a stack of parchments on his desk. But he did not seem to mind my being there. We both worked in friendly silence for a while, me on studying for my transfiguration OWL, him on some sort of correspondence. Gradually, we fell to talking. He congratulated me on making Prefect that year, and I was astonished. How did he know? Not even Harry and Ron knew about that, yet! My surprise must have been apparent, and he explained that he had been in contact with Dumbledore all summer long. And all of the sudden, I found myself pouring my heart out to this most unusual person. About how I feared for the future. About how I was worried about the Dark Lord and my OWLs and no one seemed to understand...well, until now. I think I know how Ginny felt when she was writing in that diary, except this person was someone I could trust with my life.   
  
He listened to my worries, both real and trivial, and he understood. How could his brothers think that he's nothing but a pompous, pretentious git? And then, I realized something. Just as my friends sometimes did not understand me, his family would be the same way for him. We were one and the same in our mutual misunderstood selves. And with that, what might have been an afternoon of sulking on my part passed very nicely.   
  
I didn't see him again until mid-autumn. And that was when I found out what precisely he was doing with Dumbledore. He, like Sirius Black, Professors Lupin, McGonagall and Snape, Arabella Figg, Mundungus Fletcher, Alastor Moody, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Bill, Fleur Delacour, Hagrid, Madame Maxime, Harry, Ron and I, was part of a resistance movement against Voldemort. The Order Of The Phoenix. And I found out that he was using his rapidly developing career in the Ministry (as he had taken over the late Mr. Crouch's job) to help the Light Side. And to think that some of his brothers had thought that he would choose career and power over what is right! When he saw me again, he flashed me a beautiful smile, and shook my hand warmly, his actions saying much more than the others could possibly understand, even if they picked up on it. Of course, they didn't. Well...except Dumbledore.   
  
Professor Dumbledore all gave us various assignments and tasks. He put us in groups: Fleur with Bill. Sirius Black, Arabella Figg, Mundungus Fletcher and Alastor Moody. Professors McGonagall, Snape and Lupin. Hagrid and Madame Maxime. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. Then, to all of our great surprise, he assigned Percy and I together to do some important research. When Harry and Ron protested, Professor Dumbledore simply smiled and said that it was an assignment that was best suited for our personalities and strengths, as he looked at us. But for some reason that I did not understand, I felt my cheeks heat up.   
  
And so it was that every weekend, Percy and I would be in the library thumbing through ancient books and taking notes. And comparing Prefect stories. And reminscing. And laughing at Fred and George's latest jokes. And talking about anything under the sun. I wonder if his brothers ever noticed that he has the most expressive dark eyes, that would sparkle with mirth, or cloud over with sorrow, or soften with contentment or flare with passion. But best not to think of the latter! Not while we had important work to do! And certainly not when he was the older brother of my friend! No, that would never work! Rationality WAS always dominant to emotion in my psyche, after all.   
  
But then, why was it that whenever I opened up my textbooks to do my homework, I would think of how his face would light up when he solved a problem? Why was it that whenever I pinned my Prefect badge on my robes to make my rounds that I would remember him comforting me after Blaise Zabini had yet again called me a Mudblood at the Prefect Meeting? Why was it that whenever I thought of him, I would smile to myself and feel my cheeks heat up? Why was I thinking about him all the time at all?   
  
My self-discipline lasted a good few months. In which time, I had the wonderful, horrible realization that my little infatuation with him was no mere infatuation. After a month of gritting my teeth and clenching my jaw shut to prevent myself from saying something stupid and humiliating to make him pity me, I could not stand it any more. Dignity be damned! Rationality be damned! I had been living underneath that fetter for so long, and it was choking me. I remember how it went that day that I confessed.   
  
We were sitting together in the library, on the leather couch close to the back, both of us reading, his body warm next to mine. After half an hour of trying vainly to concentrate on the book in my lap, I had slammed it shut. He looked at me, beautiful dark eyes wide with surprise behind his glasses, and asked me oh-so-kindly if I was all right. And his gentle, caring words was what opened the dam.   
  
It all came flooding out, words rushing out one after another, fast and hurried and rambling. Of how I had started to dream about him at night. Of how every time his hand brushed mine, I would feel a fluttering in my chest. Of how I loved the way he understood me. Of how I loved his eyes, and how they looked at me. Of how every time I opened a book or pinned on my badge or a multitude of everyday activities, all I could think of was him. Of how at times all I could think about was what it would be like to be in his arms. Of how I cherished his intelligence and valued his sensitivity. Of how I esteemed him. Of how I loved him.   
  
Then, cheeks burning with mixed embarrassment and relief, I had run out of the library and the castle. Some time in that run, the tears had started, and they warmed my face as the cold winter wind blew around me. I shivered, and all of the sudden, I felt my chilled body being cradled, embraced warmly and lovingly in a pair of strong arms. My face was buried in someone's chest, but at the time, I did not even care. The person held me close as I let the tears fall, a hand coming up to rub my back soothingly, and I felt someone's lips brush the top of my head with a gentle kiss.   
  
Finally, spent and with no more tears to cry, I looked up, and it was HIM! It was HIS arms that I was in. It was HE who held me like I was the most beautiful, precious thing in the world. And then, those expressive eyes beamed down on me with a look that I have not ever seen from him before. But it was a look I recognized, for it was in my eyes, too. Love. And I knew once again that he understood, because, as before, as always, we were one and the same. That look was the last thing I saw before he kissed me, and the world disappeared.   
  
That was ten years ago. Now, as I clean our house and find two old Prefect badges in a box in the attic, I smile, and think of my husband's love shining in his eyes. Perhaps when our daughter is older, I'll give her the badges. Yes. At her wedding.   
  
***  
  
Whew! There we go! REVIEW!!! 


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